


Starlight on the Red Dust

by doctortatertots



Category: Rogue One: A Star Wars Story (2016), Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars: Rebellion Era - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Everybody Lives/Nobody Dies (almost), Backstory, Chronic Illness, Chronically Ill Chirrut, Established Relationship, Fluff and Angst, M/M, Married Chirrut Îmwe/Baze Malbus, Mass Destruction, Serious Injuries, Torture, fic for charity, it's still sad but at least there's a wedding flashback, spiritassassin
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-11
Updated: 2016-12-15
Packaged: 2018-09-07 18:35:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 6
Words: 9,664
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8811673
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/doctortatertots/pseuds/doctortatertots
Summary: Forty-six years ago, two boys from Jedha found each other.Now, injured and stranded, three men from Jedha take refuge on Scarif.





	1. Aftermath

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote and posted this story before I saw Rogue One, so there are a few inconsistencies with the movie's canon.
> 
> As you probably know, America's having a really bad time right now. Therefore, I am pledging donations of $1 per kudo and $3 per comment received on this story to Immigration Equality, an organization that provides free legal services and policy advocacy on behalf of LGBTQ and HIV+ immigrants in the United States. 
> 
> UPDATE 1/25: We're up to $361 pledged! I've already made the first $50 donation and will continue to make donations in small increments (due to my financial situation). Thank you to everyone who has read this story and said such lovely things.

Every sense had been thrown off-balance. All coherence and comprehension had fled with the last vestiges of adrenaline, leaving nothing but dust and an all-consuming ringing that radiated from Baze’s ears through every inch of his skull.

He’d awoken to find himself lying a hundred or so feet from the head of a demolished imperial walker, a massive metal carcass amid a heap of fallen trees. When the ringing in his head dissipated enough for him to hear anything, he found that all was quiet. The battle was over.

He fumbled for his comlink, relieved to find it intact. “This is Malbus,” he said into the battered device, hoping it was working well enough to reach the others. “Does anyone copy?” There was an agonizing pause as all he heard was a rough buzz. “Does anyone copy?” he repeated. Nothing. His heart was pounding. “Chirrut, are you there?” he asked slowly and clearly, his voice starting to shake.

“Hello? Malbus, is that you?” It was Rook’s voice.

“Yes, it’s me; are you alright?”

“My ankle’s hurt but I think I’ll-" His voice cut out for a moment, only returning to clarity when Baze shook the comlink. “Where are you?”

“By the head of a downed walker.”

“I think I can see the walker, but-" He was interrupted by more static. “- the same one.”

“Stay where you are. I’ll try and find you.”

Dragging himself to his feet and hoisting up his gun, he began looking for Rook and any other survivors.

The air was thick with lingering dust and the stench of battle. Still disoriented, he found his eyes darting to every tiny movement in his peripheral vision, each instance only a leaf or a scrap of fabric from a fallen rebel’s uniform fluttering in the wind. The silence was heavy, threatening to close in around him as he approached the head of the walker, its glass shattered and its drivers nowhere to be found, possibly among the bodies scattered between the trees, possibly lying in wait to ambush rebel survivors.

He sighed in relief when he finally saw Chirrut at a distance through the dust.

Chirrut knelt in the shade of the wreckage of an X-Wing, perfectly still in meditation, his dark clothes and dirtied skin blending with the rubble and bodies surrounding. Baze knew him. Separated from his companions in unfamiliar surroundings, he must have taken refuge there, as the chaos died down, to center himself and listen for further danger. His head turned ever so slightly at the sound of Baze’s approaching footsteps. His lightbow and staff both lay at his side yet he made no move for either. Baze knew him. He was keeping the element of surprise.

“Chirrut, it’s me,” Baze called. The exhaustion in his own voice caught him off guard as his aching legs robotically pushed him forward. Chirrut’s head turned a little more at the sound of Baze’s voice, but he still made no other movement.

“It’s over.” Still no response. As the length between them slowly closed, Baze thought that they likely had barely enough strength left between them for one man, let alone two. That was alright. Once they met back up with the others, they could have a chance to rest. “You didn’t answer when I called. Scared me half to death. I know Rook’s here somewhere; we should find him and then look for the others. I’m sorry I-"

Something was wrong.

Chirrut was kneeling, upright and composed, posed in meditation as Baze had seen him countless times before. At a glance, everything was exactly the same.

Baze knew him.

“Chirrut?”

He was trembling.

Still ready to give out at any moment, Baze’s legs carried him to Chirrut in a few panicked strides and he laid his gun within reach before kneeling at Chirrut’s side. Chirrut hadn’t moved, still shaking yet straight-backed and dignified, sightless eyes staring ahead.

Baze’s hands reached Chirrut’s shoulders even before his knees hit the ground, and as they made contact, Chirrut’s composure fell to pieces. He collapsed back into Baze with a pained and relieved sigh, his head falling onto his shoulder, the sudden weight catching Baze off-guard and shifting him slightly backwards as he caught him. Without thinking, Baze braced a hand against Chirrut’s ribs in an attempt to steady him, recoiling just as quickly when he heard a groan and felt Chirrut’s body stiffen. His hand came away wet with blood.

The next few minutes were a haze, his heart pounding as he heard a voice, seemingly foreign and far away and yet seeming to know exactly what it was doing and what was needed; it called into his comlink to Rook, to tell him to hurry and find the ship, to bring a stretcher if the ship even had one, if the ship was even still intact, if he could even find it; the voice didn’t know, it couldn’t remember but it didn’t want to carry him, it didn’t want to do further damage, whoever’s still out there just please get here soon.

Somewhere in the stream of words it clicked back into his brain that the voice was his own.

“Chirrut, I-“

Once he realized again that the voice was his, all he could think was how useless his words were.

“I’ve, uh-“ He was speaking Basic; why the fuck was he - “I’ve called for help,” he said in Jedhan. “I’ve called the others; they’ll be here soon, you’re okay, you’ll be okay-“

There wasn’t time to examine whether he believed any of it. In the moment, his only instinct was to protect.

“Baze?”

Through his hyper-focused distress and determination, he couldn’t say how many times he heard Chirrut’s gentle voice pronounce his name, but he heard. He heard, he slowed himself down, he took his hand, he held him still.

“Yes, it’s me. It’s me.” He couldn’t say anything else. That’s all he could promise. “Stay awake, koêdhe. I’m here. I’m here.”


	2. Hour One

“This is Bodhi Rook. There are three of us stranded on the surface. As far as we can tell, we’re the only ones here; Rebellion or otherwise, there’s - there’s no one. One of us is severely injured.”

Erso had warned them all.

“I repeat, there are three of us stranded on the surface of the planet. We have someone here who needs urgent and immediate medical attention. If you can hear me…if you can hear me, please help us.”

If they decided to go on this mission, they’d have to be willing to get left behind.

“Can anyone hear me? Is anyone there?”

They’d carried Chirrut back to the head of the walker, Baze leaving Rook to guard Chirrut while he scrounged up some medical supplies and food in the walker’s body.

They’d gotten Chirrut situated in a corner, propping his head up on Rook’s rolled up jacket. Chirrut’s breathing was shallow, his eyes squeezed shut, a handful of his robe balled into his fist. The right side of his torso was burned and bloody, multiple ribs certainly cracked, some possibly broken. It was beyond their skill to fix, but they bandaged him up as best they could.

“How many did you try to take on all at once this time?” Baze asked Chirrut, pouring the last of his water into the cap of his canteen.

Chirrut laughed, then winced.

“Sorry.”

Chirrut was still smiling despite the pain. “Lost count.”

Baze lifted Chirrut’s head so he could drink. “This is the last of the water; I’m going out for more in a minute.” He lowered Chirrut’s head, petting his hair a little before standing.

“Be careful.”

“That’s rich coming from you.”

Chirrut laughed again, softer this time, as Baze crossed their shelter to where Rook sat at what was left of the walker’s control panel, trying to get a signal out to the Rebellion, a makeshift splint supporting his left ankle.

“Anything?”

Rook sighed. “No.”

“Someone has to be out there.”

“I know, but everything’s so damaged. I’m not even sure if anything’s going out.”

“Keep trying. I’m going to go out for-”

A quiet beeping noise interrupted him.

“Is something coming through?” he asked as Rook’s brow furrowed in confusion.

“No, it’s not coming from here, it’s-”

Baze turned around and looked across the shelter to see Chirrut’s body beginning to shake.

“Shit - Chirrut, hold on-“

He reached Chirrut’s side as soon as the first violent spasm hit, and his heart pounded as Chirrut screamed. He scrambled for a small case in his pocket, and as his trembling hands opened it, a handful of tiny vials spilled out onto the ground. He took one, slotted it into an apparatus that had also fallen from the case, and fiddled with a few buttons. Supporting himself on the wall, Rook had reached them and was staring at Chirrut in horror, glancing back and forth between his agonized face and the beeping coming from the gauntlet on his left arm.

“Malbus, what’s happening?”

“Hold his right arm for me.”

Rook knelt down and held onto Chirrut’s wrist, the arm and hand writhing against his grip. “I - I don’t want to hurt him-”

“Hold him as steady as you can,” Baze interrupted.

Rook nodded, an unprecedented level of panic in his eyes. Chirrut let out another stifled scream, and Rook turned to him and frantically assured him, “It’s okay. You’re going to be okay.” In one controlled, practiced motion, Baze rolled up Chirrut’s sleeve, held the apparatus to the crook of his arm, and pressed down hard on the top.

 

—————

 

“We need to go to Jedha.” His voice was so quiet, softer than usual. Somehow small. “I have to go home.”

“What do you mean?”

Chirrut breathed deeply in response, and there was a hint of a tremor in the exhale.

Baze felt his stomach knot and his heart skip. “Oh, Chirrut, no…”

All of a sudden, he didn’t feel real. Nothing felt real. He felt himself holding onto Chirrut, unsure as to which was holding the other up. He heard a voice. It was his own voice, though it felt like he was thinking of what to say and do after it had already happened. It was as if time had ceased to exist in any way that made sense.

“Do you know when?” his voice asked.

“Within a year.”

“Are you sure?”

“Dr. Farwell seems to think so. He’s not in the habit of being wrong.”

Baze’s strength failed him and he found himself sobbing quietly into Chirrut’s shoulder.

“We knew this day would come,” Chirrut murmured .

“I know, koêdhe.” He kissed his cheek, lips coming into contact with Chirrut’s own tears. “I know.”

Chirrut had always been a tired child, ever since he’d arrived at the monastery’s orphanage. He was small and gangly, with bad eyesight and a great deal of enthusiasm for playing with the other children but without much stamina. He and Baze had been friends since they were tiny, Baze always the one to stay with him whenever he got tired and the others left him behind. All in all, he got along just fine.

His first episode came at age 9.

Baze half woke up to darkness outside his dormitory window, hovering somewhere between dream and reality. He started to roll over and attempt to will himself back to sleep, but something stopped him. Something wasn’t right.

There was a noise.

It took him a while to understand what the noise was. As he dragged himself fully awake, he first realized that the noise sounded like a person, then that it must be one of the other children in the room. It sounded like whimpering, like gasping. The last piece of the puzzle fell into place in his groggy mind: the noise was coming from Chirrut’s bed.

He would always vividly remember Chirrut shaking rigidly on his bed, his skinny hands clenched, his back arched, and his panicked gasps falling on sleeping ears. Baze had never seen anything like it before. He would have nightmares about that moment for years.

Somewhere in the middle of his panic, Baze started running. He ran until he found one of their teachers and led him back to their room, unable to explain what was happening. By this point, the light was on; most of the other children in the room had been woken by some combination of Chirrut’s fit and Baze’s footsteps and many were starting to stare.

They took him away and urged the rest of the children in the room to go back to sleep, a task that Baze found impossible even after the frenzy of gossip among the others finally died down and the room was dark and silent again.

Chirrut wasn’t back by morning. Baze hoped that maybe he would be at breakfast, but he was nowhere to be found. At breakfast, Chirrut usually ate with his sister, but when Baze found her, she was sitting alone. Katiaza, five years their junior and often found trailing Chirrut around the monastery with a hand on his sleeve, was wailing inconsolably at her table as one of the monks knelt in front of her and attempted to calm her down. In that moment, Baze feared the worst, and he could tell he wasn’t the only one. The other children were whispering, almost conspiratorially, and the younger ones were staring at Katiaza’s meltdown in the way children do when they haven’t yet learned how to respect other people’s emotions. Baze didn’t approach, every fiber of his being needing to know if Chirrut was alright, but fearing what the answer would be if he asked. As Katiaza’s wails lessened down to quiet, hiccuping sobs, his curiosity won out. He approached the monk, who was now wiping the little girl’s face with a handkerchief, and timidly tugged on his sleeve, mumbling, “Where’s Chirrut?”

“Have patience, Baze,” was all he said.

Minutes later, the monk who had taken Chirrut away stood in front of the room and raised a hand to gesture for quiet before speaking.

“As some of you are already aware, our young brother Chirrut Îmwe fell ill last night. We don’t want any of you to worry; he was taken to the hospital and is doing very well. We don’t yet know when he’ll be back with us, but he is in good hands and the doctors expect that he’ll be just fine. The Force is with him, and may the Force be with us all as we go about our day and keep Chirrut in our thoughts.”

This brought Baze some relief, but not as much as he thought he should feel. The thought of his friend in the hospital weighed on him for the rest of the day, along with the image from the night before, still burned into his brain. He wished he could help. The announcement didn’t stop the other children from gossiping and speculating, either, which he tired of quickly. Word had gotten around that he was the one who had first discovered Chirrut, and everyone who slept in a different room than theirs wanted to know what he’d seen. He had a difficult time concentrating on any lesson, game, or conversation that day, and despite being exhausted from lack of rest the night before, he had an even more difficult time falling asleep when night came, his mind racing for hours before he managed to drift off.

Four more days went by. Chirrut did not return, and the other children continued to speculate. Katiaza cried each morning at breakfast when her brother didn’t arrive to sit with her, and Baze did his best to make her laugh to distract her. Each day, he asked his teacher when Chirrut was coming back, and each day, the teacher told him to have patience.

On the afternoon of the fifth day, Chirrut returned. Baze ran up to him as soon as he saw him.

“Are you okay?”

Chirrut nodded, his face timid and tired. “I want to go see Kati now,” he said before Baze could ask anything else, and their teacher led him away.

Chirrut instantly became the most popular child there as all the children their age and younger wanted to know every detail of his trip to the hospital. It was exciting to them, as if he’d gone on some kind of adventure. Baze started to wonder if he was the only one who was so unnerved by everything that had happened, and he would periodically ask Chirrut if he was alright. Each time he received the same answer. Something about Chirrut’s quiet insistence seemed false, and Baze couldn’t shake the uneasy feeling that had settled in the pit of his stomach the night Chirrut fell ill.

One night, as Baze was falling asleep, he heard something, another noise coming from Chirrut’s bed. He sat up in a jolt, terrified it was happening again, but when he listened closely, he realized it wasn’t the same. Chirrut was crying.

He didn’t know what to do. Chirrut had practically been hiding from everyone - even him - for the past few days; he didn’t want to get a teacher and make a scene, but he wanted to do something. At a loss for how to help and overcome with fear and sadness for his best friend, he climbed into Chirrut’s bed and curled up next to him.

Chirrut didn’t stop crying, and Baze wondered if he should do something else, if he should have gotten an adult after all or if he should have just left him alone. Then he felt Chirrut shift a little closer.

They stayed that way all night, Chirrut’s crying eventually dissipating as he fell asleep.

This became routine, Baze sneaking out of bed to sleep next to Chirrut whenever he heard him crying, then occasionally when he wasn’t crying but had still seemed upset earlier in the day. One night, afraid of crowding him, Baze fell asleep in his own bed, waking a few hours later shaking and short of breath after dreaming that he had been frozen and powerless to help Chirrut as he had another fit. The sound of his dream self’s panicked screams still rattling in his head, he got his bearings, climbed out of his bed and into Chirrut’s, and held him.

In many ways, he never left.

Through every stage of Chirrut’s illness and every moment of their love, he held him close. They clung to each other as timid teenagers stealing a first kiss when no one was looking, as passionate lovers finding their place in the world, and as devoted partners finally confident in their worth to each other. Chirrut grew stronger, flourishing through treatment and eventually becoming one of the most skilled fighters at the monastery, all the while living with the knowledge that the disease would take him before his time. Some days were better than others, and Baze was there for all of them, through every muscle spasm, the constant underlying pain, the fatigue, the gradual progression of blindness that left him in darkness at the age of nineteen.

When Jedha fell to the Empire and safe medical care became scarce, he watched Chirrut ration his meds, his dosage dropping so low that his health began to steadily decline. Baze stole what he could, but there was no way to get enough. The more Chirrut took daily, the less was available in case he had an episode. The less he took, the more prone to them he became. By the time the Rebellion managed to help them escape Jedha, he was half dead.

Baze watched him get better. Over the course of the following year, in the care of a Rebel doctor, he regained his strength. For years afterward, they lived in relative peace alongside Chirrut’s family, doing what they could for the Rebellion in secret and returning to the life they’d led in pre-Imperial Jedha as best they could. They’d always known, however, that the management of his illness was just that. Keeping the inevitable at arm’s length.

The signs had been there. He’d been starting to get thinner. He was having more days when the fatigue and pain kept him from training. His episodes, still few and far between thanks to the meds, were gradually becoming more frequent. But there had been fluctuations like this in the past. Baze had been there for each one, and he always came back around.

This time, he wouldn’t.

That night, Baze made dinner as Chirrut meditated in the next room. The rest of that day had been quiet, both of them needing to process and plan. Baze came into the living room, taking care not to disrupt Chirrut’s meditation as he set his plate down on the table next to him and sat down with his own. He tried to will himself to eat, staring at his plate until Chirrut broke the silence.

“Earlier…when I said we needed to go, I didn’t mean…” He paused, sighing. “You still have a life ahead of you. I don’t want to put you in danger for the sake of my death.”

The words were out of Baze’s mouth before Chirrut had even finished. “I’m going with you.”

Chirrut smiled. “So stubborn.”

“Learned from the best, my love.”


	3. Hour Two

He’d found a small freshwater pool about a quarter mile from where they’d taken shelter, and on his way back from refilling their canteens, it struck him for the first time since he’d found Chirrut how exhausted he was. It also struck him just how alone they were. He hadn’t encountered a living being other than Chirrut and Rook since he’d woken up on the battlefield, and the sky stretched out forever above him as he left the trees and approached the walker, not a ship in sight.

“It’s me,” he called before he even entered the walker head so as not to startle them.

“Did you find water?” Rook asked, back at the control panel and looking almost ready to pass out, his lips cracked and his hair sticking to his forehead with sweat. Chirrut lay in his corner, awake and alert, stabilized from his earlier episode and looking like he was having an equally unpleasant time in the humidity as he and Rook were.

Baze handed Rook’s canteen to him first. “There’s more where that came from but don’t drink it all at once,” he said as Rook ripped the cap off and immediately downed half the bottle.

Baze sat next to Chirrut, taking the armor and gun off of his shoulders and unscrewing the cap of the canteen as Chirrut reached for it. “For the gentleman,” Baze said, handing him the canteen and lifting his head again as he drank.

“Thank you.” Chirrut handed it back. Baze took a small sip, replaced the cap, and set it within arm’s reach. Another wave of fatigue washed over him. His shoulders ached and he sighed, rubbing his temples and forehead with his hand.

“Are you alright?” Chirrut asked.

“Yes,” he answered, a little too quickly.

Chirrut smiled, reaching out to Baze’s chest.

“You in any less pain?” Baze asked, shifting closer to meet Chirrut’s hand.

Chirrut nodded. “The medication’s kicking in.”

“Good. How do you feel otherwise?”

“Tired.”

Baze watched Chirrut’s fingers softly trace out a hidden pattern on the fabric covering his heart.

“Baze?” Chirrut asked after a moment.

“Yes?” He took hold of Chirrut’s hand, keeping it pressed to his heart.

“If you survive this-“

“Chirrut, don’t say that-“

“If you survive this,” he repeated forcefully. “Look after them. Look after our family.”

“Of course, love. Of course.”

“They’ll look after you.”

“I know.” He squeezed his hand, lifted it to his lips, and kissed it. _One thing at a time_ , he thought. He hadn’t lost him yet.

 

—————

 

Though they’d agreed that the whole thing was going to be simple and understated, Chirrut had insisted on braiding Baze’s hair back earlier that day. The meticulousness and gentleness with which he had done so had calmed Baze’s nerves, pulling him away from the questions he had been torturing himself with. Going through with something like this had seemed so futile during such a hopeless time, but that thought was far away for once as Chirrut knelt in front of him. Chirrut didn’t look much different than usual; Jedhan monks didn’t really have much ceremonial garb to speak of, and with the temple occupied and ransacked, they didn’t have much of anything. Nonetheless, Baze thought he looked beautiful.

The necklace Chirrut wore was a durasteel locket that Baze had given him as a token of affection when they were young. Curled inside was a small braid of Baze’s hair. Every day since receiving it, he’d worn it under his robe, Baze’s heart swelling with love whenever he caught a glimpse of the leather cord sticking out from his collar. Today, he’d put it on display.

They knelt in a small garden outside the small, rundown building that had become the new living place for the monks and the children in their care over the years since the rise of the Empire and the destruction of the monastery. The only others in attendance were a handful of the monks who had known the both of them since they were children, Chirrut’s sister having escaped the moon with her husband and infant daughter shortly after the Empire took control.

It wasn’t perfect, but it was peaceful. That was all either of them could hope for.

They knelt, hand in hand, foreheads pressed together, and declared their love so that only they could hear, not even the officiating monk privy to their words.

“Chirrut Îmwe, my first friend and the love of my life, I am a better man because of you. And I want to promise you, I want to swear, that no matter what happens to us, I’ll never leave your side. You are-” His voice caught in his throat and a few tears escaped his closed eyes. “You are a vessel for good in this world and I would move the galaxy for you. Our love is built on trust and respect. In this age of fear, I have faith in its strength, and I have faith in you.”

By the time Chirrut had finished his own murmured vows, it was difficult for Baze to keep from sobbing.

The officiant seemed far away, his words a distant hum as Baze felt himself sink into every point of contact, overwhelmed by the gentle warmth of Chirrut’s voice and skin.

He distantly heard, “May the Force be with you both,” and he found himself smiling as Chirrut cradled his face and kissed him. His hands settled on Chirrut’s waist and when they eventually broke from the kiss, he saw that Chirrut’s beautiful smile was framed by tears as well. Overcome with joy, he pulled Chirrut to him and they held each other tightly, laughing and crying into each other’s shoulders, as far as they could possibly feel from the war outside.

 

“And what’s this?” The baton prodded at Baze’s ribs, sending a piercing shock through his torso.

They’d brought him in for questioning and he’d been playing as innocent yet defiant as he could. It was entirely possible that they had no concrete idea of any subversive activity he was involved in - the stormtroopers that patrolled the streets of their town were known to drag people in on the merit of looking vaguely suspicious, sometimes on the merit of their own boredom. So far, they didn’t seem to realize that he’d set himself up for capture, a tracking device hidden in the heel of his boot, biding his time until his compatriots stormed the prison.

His shirt had been ripped, the collar hanging low on his chest, the tip of the baton hovering inches from his skin. When he failed to answer the question, the stormtrooper closed the distance, slowly dragging the baton from his sternum up to the joint of his shoulder. He screamed between clenched teeth, the sustained shock making his vision swim out of focus.

“That a Rebel insignia?”

Almost deliriously, he started to laugh while his skin burned sharply where the baton had met it. “Shows what little you know about Jedha.”

“Answer me!” the stormtrooper yelled, striking him hard across the face with the baton.

He looked up, staring the man in the blank eyes of his mask and doing his best to ground himself in the midst of the dizziness and pain. “It’s a symbol of devotion.”

“To what?” Another blow to the same side of his face. The shock was brief on each hit, but Baze thought he could feel blood trickle down his temple.

“To my husband,” he said, glaring up at the stormtrooper before the baton made contact a third time, then a fourth. He could feel himself disconnecting from his surroundings as his vision started blacking out and exploding into stars.

_“What’ll you miss the most?”_

Somewhere in the crashing ship of his mind, he found an image, a memory of himself and Chirrut, young and in clumsy, inelegant love.

_“What?”_

_“Seeing, I mean.”_

He remembered sitting next to him in the monastery’s back garden, looking up at the night sky and trying to give himself the courage to hold his hand.

_“The starlight, I think. I’ve almost lost it already.”_

He held on.

_“I wish I could be that for you. Give it back to you somehow.”_

_Chirrut laughed._

_“I’m sorry, that was silly.”_

_“No, it was very kind. And I think you are, um…I think you do, in a way…” He laughed again. “Maybe we’re both being silly.”_

_“I can live with that.” He reached for Chirrut’s hand._

Baze woke up in his husband’s arms, lying on a cot back in the hideout they shared with other Jedhan rebels, still shaky, his head pounding and several places on his body stinging angrily. Chirrut was sitting up against the wall and stroking Baze’s cheek, his face weary.

“Thank the Force you’re alive.”

“I always come back, don’t I? You think a few stormtroopers will make me break my own wedding vow?”

Chirrut laughed a little, his smile halfhearted. “Your injuries aren’t severe,” he said, brushing Baze’s hair back from the stitched gash that ran down his temple and under his eye. “You’ll be alright.”

“Yeah. I think he carved up my tattoo a bit, though.” He braced himself on Chirrut’s shoulder and sat up, starting to laugh as he leaned into the corner formed by the wall and Chirrut’s arm. “Fucking idiot thought it was a Rebel symbol.”

“You were supposed to keep quiet until we got there, not bait them.”

“How do you know I baited them?”

“We were right on your tail and in that short of a time frame you managed to lose consciousness and nearly get your head bashed in.”

“What can I say? When the Force was handing out patience, it skipped me.”

Chirrut sighed pointedly. It was a sigh Baze knew well, a mixture of _why are you so stubborn_ and _I know you really don’t care how the Force works but that sure isn’t how the Force works_.

“Oh, as if you wouldn’t have done the same. At least I had a plan.”

“I always have a plan.”

“No, you always invent a plan once you’ve already gotten yourself into trouble.”

“That’s still a plan.”

“Yes, but it’s different.”

Chirrut shrugged. “A plan is a plan.”

“Whatever you say, wise and powerful Guardian.”

Chirrut raised an eyebrow. “I could put you out again if you’d like.”

Baze laughed, putting an arm around his shoulders and kissing his cheek.

“How bad’s the damage to your tattoo?”

“Can’t tell under the bandage. We’ll see when it heals.”

The burn would leave a scar that ran diagonally through the middle of the tattoo over Baze’s heart, leaving the symbol somewhat crooked. He often wondered if he should get it fixed up, but figured it would be hard to repair the details over the scar tissue and that either way, Chirrut wouldn’t be able to see it anyway. What mattered was that it was still there, not the perfection of the lines.

Before getting the tattoo done in the first place years before, he’d asked Chirrut what he thought, handing him a small piece of wood with the design carved into it, the lines thick enough for him to make out the symbol by tracing it with his finger. He’d traced it a few times, his brow furrowed in concentration, until something clicked. “Is this…” he’d started to ask, then smiled broadly on realizing he was right. Shortly after Baze got the tattoo, Chirrut had his locket engraved with the same symbol, tattoos both too risky for his slow healing time and frowned upon by the monks’ code.

The design was in old Jedhan script, a writing system that had fallen out of style in the previous centuries but was still taught in schools such as the monastery where they’d both grown up.

The symbol spelled out a single Jedhan word.

Koêdhe.

Starlight.


	4. Hour Three

“I have always existed. I cannot be destroyed. I am the Force and the Force is immortal.”

Baze sat at Chirrut’s shoulder, stroking his hair in silence as he prayed. 

“There is no death. There is only the Force.” As he murmured the words to himself, he was trembling, eyes closed, a thin layer of sweat on his skin.

Prayer, he had explained to Baze once, was not meant to be a demand or a plea to the Force, but an act of centering oneself. Prayer was an affirmation of one’s own strength, of their place in the grand scheme of the galaxy. This bit of knowledge was scratching at the back of Baze’s mind, incessantly trying to tell him that Chirrut was scared. The same voice in his subconscious observed that the medication’s effects weren’t lasting as long as usual. The same voice cursed himself and this jungle for having no other way to manage Chirrut’s pain.

“Baze?”

“Yes?” he answered, pushing these thoughts aside.

“Are you cold?”

The sun was setting outside, yet even in the shade, Baze was still sweltering in the tropical air. “No.” His hand stopped on Chirrut’s forehead. It was warm to the touch. “Do you feel cold?”

Chirrut didn’t answer. He stayed silent for a moment, then quietly resumed his prayer. “I have always existed. I cannot be-”

“Chirrut,” he interrupted gently. “No matter how bad things look…I will do whatever it takes to get you through this.”

The corners of Chirrut’s mouth turned up ever so slightly. “I know.”

“You think I’m delusional.”

“I think you’re doing all you can to protect me. And that when I’m gone, you’ll hold yourself accountable as if there was something you could have done to keep me alive forever.” He turned his head toward Baze, leaning into his hand. “You know better than anyone. It would take a miracle for me to heal from this now.”

Baze sighed, taking hold of Chirrut’s hand. “I still have hope. That they’ll come back for us.”

“So do I. But they may not be coming back for me.”

“We’ll keep trying.”

“I love you, koêdhe.”

“I love you, too.”

 

—————

 

“Baze, can I talk to you about something?”

“Of course.”

They’d visited Katiaza’s family earlier in the day for dinner, Chirrut teaching her children - now nine and six years old - some balance exercises until they got bored and started begging for him to show them how to do backflips. Baze loved watching them. Chirrut was a kind and patient teacher, and no matter his mood, his spirits always seemed lifted when he spent time with his niece and nephew. In their own apartment a few floors up, Baze tied his hair up and watched his husband get ready for bed, in love with everything about him. The grace with which he felt his way around his side of the room. The way the dim, warm light fell on the bare skin of his back. Every infinitesimal muscle movement as he sat on the edge of the bed. They were the safest and healthiest they had been in years. Baze felt that he couldn’t be luckier than in this moment.

“There will come a time…and I can’t know when this time will be, but there will come a time when I’ll return to Jedha.”

It would be one of the most selfish fights they’d ever had.

“I don’t understand.”

“When my condition progresses to a point where…” He paused. Inhaled. Exhaled. “When it becomes apparent that I’m nearing the end of my life, I’m going to return to Jedha.”

Baze laughed a little in surprise without thinking, regretting it somewhat when Chirrut sighed. “We can’t go back to Jedha,” he added to offset the accidental callousness. “It’s a war zone.”

“I’m not joking,” Chirrut murmured.

“Neither am I. Why would you want to go back there?”

“Jedha is a sacred place,” he answered as if expecting Baze to have understood from the beginning. “I want to be there at the time of my death. And besides, it’s our home.”

“What do you mean? It’s…it’s not our home anymore; this is our home.”

“Maybe you don’t feel that way anymore, but I do.”

Baze bristled at Chirrut’s insistence that Jedha was still somehow home. It hurt in a way that Baze couldn’t comprehend, and his utter lack of understanding - both of Chirrut’s calm rationalization and his own sensitivity to it - only aggravated the sting.

“Chirrut, I know it’s a sacred place for you, but going back there makes no sense. It’s not safe there - it’s a death trap.”

“And what does that matter once I’m already dying?” The sudden, stubborn edge in his voice set Baze off even further.

“Damn it, Chirrut, it matters to me!”

“This is not your choice to make!”

“You’re always saying that the Force is everywhere. What difference does it make where you are if the Force is everywhere? Why difference does it make if you’re in a comfortable and safe place where your family can take care of you and say their goodbyes?”

“It makes a difference to me. It matters to me that I make a last pilgrimage to the most sacred place of the faith that I’ve dedicated my life to, and it matters to me that when the energy of my life dissipates, it joins with that place. This is my choice. Not my family’s, and not yours.”

Baze was silent. He could tell he had gone too far. “I’m sorry, I… Do you want me to leave you alone?”

“No. It’s alright.” Chirrut just kept sitting still on the edge of the bed. He’d always kept control over his emotions, but Baze could practically feel his sadness fill the room. He hesitated for a moment, then sat down next to him.

“May I ask something? If I promise not to get indignant again?”

Chirrut nodded.

“You want to go back to Jedha because it’s a holy place.”

“Yes.”

“Is that the only reason?”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean…do you want to go down fighting?”

He didn’t answer.

“I’m not doubting the reasons you’ve told me, not at all, but…I’m wondering whether part of this decision is because you would rather…rather die fighting the Empire and defending Jedha than…sit back and wait until your sickness takes you.”

Still no answer.

“I’m sorry if I’ve made this worse. If I’m wrong, I-“

“You’re not.” Turning to Baze, he gave a smile tinged with sadness and exhaustion. “I want to die in service to my faith and my people. On Jedha, I may be able to do that. Given the choice, I would rather give up my last months for the chance to make a difference there than waste away in peace.”

“Yeah. That sounds like you.”

Chirrut laughed quietly.

“There’s that smile. I’m sorry for presuming. Even if I was right.”

“You know me too well.”

That’s what happens when you’ve made up your mind to grow old together but know you won’t be able to, Baze thought. You make up for the time you know you’re going to lose. They’d never had time for mystery.

“And I’m sorry for snapping at you; I just…you’ve always put your faith before your own comfort. Often your own safety. I don’t want you to think that I’m accusing you of putting your faith before me or your family and that I’m holding it against you. If you are choosing between your faith and us while planning for the end of your life, then you’re right. It is your choice. And it’s not about us. I won’t lie to you - that makes me very sad. But It’s not fair to you for me to be angry with you about it. This is what you want. It’s important to you. And it’s not my place to fight against your last wish.”

Chirrut gently took his hand. After a moment, his thumb rubbing little circles over Baze’s skin, he spoke. “I’m sorry that it feels as though I’m choosing my faith over you. This decision is not a reflection of my love for you, and I cannot insist on that fact enough. On the contrary, it…” His voice seemed to catch slightly, and he held Baze’s hand tighter. “It would pain me greatly to leave you behind and to live out the remainder of my life without you. But I would not dare ask you to go back there against your will.”

In response, Baze pulled him into an embrace. For a few moments, they held each other in silence, Baze letting himself get lost in the feel of Chirrut’s gentle breath on his neck. “We still have time,” Chirrut murmured. “Before plans need to be made.”

“Yeah.” They both fell silent again. Baze sighed, holding Chirrut tighter and beginning to rub his back. “I’ll help you figure it out when the time comes. And whether you need help or not, I’ll be with you. For whatever you need and whatever I can give to make things easier.”

Chirrut squeezed back, resting his head in the curve of Baze’s shoulder.

Baze continued tracing a hand over his husband’s back in the silence. Chirrut’s arms relaxed again in response to the touch and he leaned more of his weight into Baze.

“Can I kiss you?”

“Yes.”

Chirrut drew back and sat up, one hand in Baze’s hair. Baze took his face in his hands and kissed him softly, first on the forehead, then on the lips. Closing his eyes, he touched their foreheads together.

“I love you. I’m sorry.”

“I forgive you. I love you, too.”


	5. Hour Four

“I can take over for a little while if you sit with him.”

“How is he?”

“Asleep.”

He’d had another fit a half an hour ago, writhing so intensely that he’d bled through his bandages. Baze had redressed the wound and held his hand until the pain was dulled enough for him to fall asleep. Baze’s knuckles still hurt.

“How’s your leg?”

“You wouldn’t happen to have any pain meds to spare, would you?” Rook asked wryly as he stood and hopped to the wall to brace himself.

Baze half smiled, taking Rook’s seat. “If I gave you even a quarter dose of his, you’d be on the floor.”

For half an hour, he sat and listened, sending out their distress call every few minutes and hearing nothing but static in return, the dread in his heart growing stronger with every passing minute. Only a few hours, and they were running out of time.

“Malbus?” he heard from across the room, breaking his concentration.

He turned, practically jumping to his feet.

“It’s alright; he’s just asked for you.”

As he took his place at Chirrut’s side once again, his heart sank at how pale and ashen his face was.

“Thank you, Bodhi,” he said as the pilot made his unsteady way back to the controls. Chirrut’s brow was furrowed as he weakly reached up and started removing the rag that lay across his forehead. Baze had used the last of his own portion of the water to dampen it as he’d fallen asleep. “Chirrut, leave it.”

“It’s cold…”

“You have a fever. I’m trying to keep it under control, okay?”

Chirrut was still for a moment, his breath labored. Then he nodded. “I’m sorry…it’s hard to focus…”

Baze removed the compress and pressed it to the back of Chirrut’s neck, noticing that the necklace lay over the top of his robe and that he had reached up to hold the locket, his thumb rubbing the Old Jedhan engraving.

“I’m sorry, love,” Baze said softly, returning the compress to Chirrut’s forehead. “I’m sorry it couldn’t be on Jedha.”

“The Force brought us here,” Chirrut murmured. “My last act was to fight back against those who attacked and subjugated our people. There is still hope for our success. For you. For the others. I can do little else but make peace with where I am and be contented with my fight.”

“Are you?”

“Hm?”

“Are you content with your fight?”

“I wish…I could have done more.”

“That sounds like you.”

The corner of Chirrut’s mouth twitched up.

“You’ve done all you could.”

“I know.”

“I wish I could have done more, too. For Jedha and for you.”

Chirrut’s hand left the locket and took hold of Baze’s wrist. “You’ve done so much for me. Never think that you didn’t do enough for me.”

Baze lifted the hand from his wrist and gently kissed it.

“Will you stay?” Chirrut asked. “While I sleep?”

“Of course.”

 

—————

 

“They’re testing it on Jedha.” The words would be a weight in his heart forever. “We have to get people out.”

And they did, on cargo ships, cruisers, anything the Alliance could get through. It was a frantic effort, no one willing to verbalize the inescapable truth that they wouldn’t be able to save everyone.

The moon was starting to tremble as they helped countless people into the hold of Rook’s ship, and as the air became thick with dust, Baze could see the temple begin to crumble in the distance.

“Let’s go!” Erso stood at the top of the ramp as he sprinted to the ship, Chirrut following just behind him.

As he reached the edge of the ramp, she yelled Chirrut’s name past him. He turned. Chirrut had stopped.

“Malbus, what the hell is he doing?”

He was facing away from them, motionless, his staff hanging from his hand and resting in the dirt.

“Chirrut!”

He turned at the sound of his name. Baze saw his face through the cloudy air and it was desperate, almost pleading, on the verge of tears. He looked so tired.

“What are you doing?” Erso shouted. That’s when he noticed that he was walking toward Chirrut. “Malbus!”

He didn’t answer her. He’d made a promise.

Chirrut’s breath was visibly shaky, a tear track running from each eye through the grime on his face. He shook his head slowly as Baze reached him.

Baze took his hand.

“Baze, please…”

“I’m not bluffing,” he heard himself say. “I won’t leave you.”

An eternity passed as they stood hand-in-hand, their home falling to pieces around them.

Baze let go of his hand, preparing to take off his gun and pull Chirrut close to him. Preparing for the end.

He heard his husband’s voice.

“Take me to the ship.”

Faster than he even thought he was capable of, he grabbed Chirrut’s hand again and tore towards the ship, the air now so thick that Baze could hardly see. The ramp began to raise as soon as they’d reached it, and they threw themselves on the floor as the ship took off.

“What the fuck was that?” Erso extended a hand to help Baze up, clearly shaken by what they’d just done. Coughing, Baze stumbled to his feet and helped Chirrut up in turn. Chirrut leaned against him slightly, quiet and shell-shocked, as they made their way to the cockpit to join the others.

Baze was thankful that Chirrut couldn’t see the destruction raging outside the window as they made their fervent escape.

All of them were silent, even K-2S0. There were no words for such a horror.

Even after they were clear of the explosion and debris, Rook continued flying steadily as always, gripping the controls with pale knuckles, every iota of his body rigid and tensed. Baze sat with Chirrut against one wall, Andor and Erso against the other, K-2S0 in the copilot’s chair. Baze held Chirrut around the shoulders, their hands still clasped, and tried to wrap his mind around the fact that in that moment, they had both been ready to die.

When they were far enough out of the Empire’s sight, they stopped. Rook stood, one hand on the edge of the control panel. Then heavily, as if all his joints had frozen up, he turned and lowered himself to the floor, saying nothing and acknowledging no one. He only sat next to his chair, his back to the window, violently shaking and staring into dead air.

“Bodhi?” Andor asked after a moment.

He looked up, eyes wide and dull.

“Do you want me to take over for now?”

“I - I’m sorry…”

“It’s alright.”

Several minutes after Andor took the helm, Rook wearily leaned against the pilot’s chair, still staring, still shaking, his silent anguish punctuated by an occasional gasp for breath. His head had fallen close to Andor’s thigh, and Baze watched the captain halfway break from the controls to reach down and squeeze his shoulder. After he did, Rook burst into tears, prompting Chirrut to momentarily turn his head toward the sound. Chirrut sighed. Baze held him tighter.

“Bodhi.” Chirrut extended an unshaking hand in Rook’s direction.

Rook’s head turned at the sound of his name. With great effort, he stood, leaning on the back of the chair for support, his breath ragged, tears falling steadily down his face. He stumbled to Chirrut’s side and sank back to the floor.

Chirrut’s hand remained outstretched. Rook stared past it, his eyes glazed over.

“Bodhi, will you pray with me?” His voice was calm, free of fear. Later, after they’d landed and the refugees huddling in the cargo hold had been taken to safety, he would fall to pieces in Baze’s arms. For now, he was a faint yet steady beacon of strength.

Without looking, Rook took Chirrut’s hand.

Chirrut closed his eyes and began softly praying in Jedhan. Rook resumed sobbing quietly at the words. Possibly at the sound of his stolen moon’s tongue - hearing the language spoken aloud made Baze’s heart pang with a new intensity, fresh tears welling in his eyes, and he wondered if the younger man felt the same. In the future, how far would they have to go before finding someone who understood their first language? How many had managed to get out? Baze felt sick at the thought. How many had they left behind?

Chirrut continued steadily on. All that betrayed his own pain was the intensity of his grip on Baze’s hand.

“In the face of fear, we seek comfort in the strength of the Force and thus in the strength of ourselves.”

His voice was a small comfort in and of itself.

“Where there is cruelty, the Force gives us hope.”

Baze turned and softly kissed his husband’s cheek, silently thanking him for this rare grasp at peace, then rested his forehead against Chirrut’s temple, both stained with sweat and the red dust of their homeworld. Chirrut rubbed his thumb over Baze’s hand in response as the prayer continued unbroken.

“May the Force be with those lost and with those who remain. May it be with us now. May it remind us of our strength, and may it light our way.”


	6. Hour Five

He lay on his side next to his sleeping husband, staying clear of his wound and holding his hand. He’d gotten his other arm underneath him and was holding him around the shoulders, his head nestled in the curve of Chirrut’s neck and their clasped hands resting on Chirrut’s heart. Rook hadn’t called over to them in a while. Baze figured he had realized they needed some privacy.

He felt Chirrut starting to stir and slipped his arm out from under him so he could sit up.

“Master Modaara always looks at us funny…” Chirrut mumbled, squeezing Baze’s hand and smiling a little. “But I…I like it when you sleep here…”

“Chirrut?”

“He - I think he thinks that…we’re both odd…”

“Koêdhe,” Baze said softly, stroking Chirrut’s hair.

“Koêdhe…” He paused, the word’s history hanging in the air. “I’m sorry, I…I must have been dreaming.” His eyes were closed and his head turned to the side, his breathing shallow and his grip frail on Baze’s hand.

“Chirrut, can you hear me?”

“Yes.”

“Are you in pain?”

“No…” He smiled. “The Force is with us…I can feel it…” He reached his fingers weakly upward. Baze took his hand and pressed it to his cheek, holding it there as Chirrut’s thumb brushed incrementally across his cheekbone. With seemingly great effort, Chirrut turned his head to face him, opening his sightless eyes to meet those clouded by tears. With sudden strength and clarity despite the strained and shaking timbre in his voice, he laced his fingers into Baze’s hair, never breaking eye contact, and said, “The Force is eternal. I’ll never leave you.”

Baze leaned down and kissed him, unable to keep a few tears from falling from his eyes and onto Chirrut’s cheek.

He felt Chirrut’s hand slipping from the back of his head, and he caught it as he sat up, tenderly kissing his palm before brushing his own tears from his husband’s face.

Chirrut’s eyes had closed again. “I think I need to go back to sleep.”

“Sleep, koêdhe. I’ll be here.”

 

Within the hour, he faded away.

Only a few minutes later, a Rebel scout picked up their signal.

 

—————

 

When the Death Star was destroyed, he wept with relief.

His face was steel when he shook hands with the pilot that had taken it down. The pilot was just a boy; he couldn't have been older than Baze's nephew. He’d been planning to explain to him the role that he’d played, to thank him for the Rebels’ victory and for ensuring that his husband hadn’t died in vain, but when the time came, all he could say was, “Thank you.” He felt as though if he spoke further, he would break.

A monument commemorating the battle was erected on Scarif after the Empire fell, and among the names etched into its base was an inscription he and Katiaza had provided.

_Chirrut Îmwe._  
_Guardian of the Whills.  
_ _Devoted husband, brother, and uncle._

His fingers traced the inscription, the stone warm in the Scarif sun. His heart ached, and as he touched his husband’s name, his mind settled on a memory. He closed his eyes and was once again kneeling in front of Chirrut on their wedding day.

“You asked me once,” Chirrut murmured after Baze had spoken his vows and it came time for his own, “how I can still believe in the Force after everything I’ve been through.”

Children ended up in the orphanage for many different reasons. Some had lost their families to illness or other tragedy - others were given to the care of the monastery out of poverty and desperation. Baze was one of the former, having lost his mother at a very young age with no other family to step in. Chirrut was neither. He had never spoken much of why he had come to the orphanage - he was very young when he arrived, after all, and memory is imperfect, especially memories so intensely unwanted. As far as Baze knew early on, Chirrut and Katiaza had just appeared one day, much the same as most of the other children that called the monastery home.

The monks would never discuss a child’s circumstances with other children. Rumor had it, however, that one of the monks had left the temple early one morning to find a boy, barely six years old, sitting on the temple steps and holding a baby girl. They said that the boy’s lip was split and the blood was dry, that the monk who found him asked where his parents were and he just shook his head with an air of fear. How far had he walked? He didn’t know. How had he found the monastery? He didn’t know. How had he known it was a safe place? He didn’t know.

“There was such a slim chance that Kati and I would make it to the monastery. I didn’t even know that’s where we were going - I didn’t know where to go at all besides far away from where we’d started. I was so small, I was carrying my sister, I was terrified, and I was lost. And I ended up in the safest place I could have possibly found, among people who would care for me and Kati and let us want for nothing. The Force led me there. I have no other explanation besides the most absurdly improbable luck. And years later, when I fell ill and I thought all was lost and you held me as I slept, I realized that not only did the Force lead me to safety that day, it also led me to you. You’re the best man I’ve ever known. And I thank the Force every moment of every day that I am so lucky to share my life with you.”

Letting his tears flow freely, Baze kissed the inscription and leaned his forehead against the stone. “May the Force be with us both.”


End file.
